


The End

by GrumpyJenn



Series: Contact [13]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Epilogue, Hopeful Ending, finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyJenn/pseuds/GrumpyJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or a beginning</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amie33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/gifts), [tardisjunkyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjunkyard/gifts), [Kerjen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerjen/gifts).



The Doctor stood, head bowed, staring at the stone in the graveyard in New York. _Old_ New York, circa 2014, and the stone was of course Amy’s and Rory’s. He still missed them, still occasionally smashed a random statue out of sheer unbridled rage, though the day-to-day agony had dulled to an ache around his hearts. When Anthony had come it had eased a bit; the guilt was lessened. When River had gone to the library it had sharpened.

He missed her too.

Well, wasn’t that a ridiculous thing to say. Or even think. Of course he missed her. She was his wife. His beloved. And he had told her so seldom. Evie had been right; he almost never said it, not even to River or the TARDIS. He had loved most of his companions over the centuries, liked all of them, else why would he keep coming back to earth for them, the humans and their fragile, short little lives? Why hurt himself so much, risk that pain over and over again, if he didn’t love them, if the loving wasn’t worth the pain.

But none of them - not even Rose or Sarah Jane or Amy - _none_ of them meant more to him just now than River Song and his own Sexy Thing. He still had the latter. He missed the former.

_So much._

“Excuse me,” said a voice. A very young voice, like that of a child. “Excuse me; are you the Doctor?”

The Doctor spun about and looked down at the little girl. Pretty far down, actually. From her speech she was about seven (and he loved seven, some of the loveliest children he ever met had been seven) but she was so tiny that she looked much younger. Until she smiled at him and he saw the gaps where teeth were missing. That happened around seven in human children, didn’t it? He wasn’t sure. “Are you seven?” he asked the little girl, and she showed more gaps in her answering smile.

“Yes,” she said, “And you _are_ the Doctor, aren’t you? The blue box is here, so you must be.” She smiled at him again, and her dark blue eyes scrunched up at the corners.  She pushed ginger hair out of her face.

“I am, yes,” he answered her, and crouched to her level. “And what’s your name?”

“Mumma says if you ask that, it means we haven’t met yet,” she confided, “But I think if we had met I’d know it, don’t you? Would you like tea? Mumma’s getting it in that shop over there. She says...” here the girl leaned closer, “that you like _custard_ with your fish fingers. Isn’t that a bit odd?”

“A bit,” he agreed, “but then so am I. So... who’s your mumma?”

“She said I’m to tell you my name before hers. Because my name might make you cry happy tears just a bit. You won’t cry, will you?” She looked troubled.

He was choking up already. “I’ll try not to, but you see this is a graveyard and I miss the people buried here,” he said. “What is your name, seven-year-old?”

“Harmony Brooke. Mumma says I’m to tell you I’m named after my aunties... sort of.”

“After your... aunties.” What was this? The name sounded like... but she had said _aunties_ , plural.

“Yes. And... oh!” She looked worried. “I’d forgotten to give you this; I was meant to before I told you my name.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please don’t tell Mumma I got the order wrong.”

“Pshht. Temporal order is overrated. Give it here.” He held out his hand and she deposited a small book into it. Like her eyes and most of her clothes, the little book was dark blue, but it wasn’t _that_ book; it hadn’t the markings. He opened it to the front page, where he read an inscription:

_She left this with me to give to you when the time is right._

_I think that time is now._

The Doctor turned a page and made a small noise in the back of his throat that was not quite a gasp. He ruffled quickly through the other pages of the book. It was a photograph album.

And the photos were of him.

Him in every incarnation, and each and every one of the travelling companions he’d had over the years, even those who didn’t actually travel with him, like the Brigadier and his daughter, and Craig, and Vastra, and Dorium. And _her_ , his River Song. He flipped to the end. It was current up through Clara. He looked at the little girl - _Harmony Brooke_ , he reminded himself - and managed a shaky smile. She looked relieved that he wasn’t crying.

“Harmony, is Brooke your surname?”

She shook her head. “No. My whole name is Harmony Brooke Jones. And Mumma said I could tell you - but nobody else - that I’m from fifty-second century Luna. Oh, now you _are_ crying. I’m sorry!” She looked distressed, and he shook his head and held out his arms. She rushed into them and he hugged her tight.

“I thought you might have that reaction, Doctor,” said Evie Jones, and he looked up.

“I don’t know how I missed it,” he admitted ruefully. “She couldn’t look more like you.”

Evie smiled at him and insinuated herself into the hug. “I know.” She dug something out of her trouser pocket one-handed and placed it on the ground, then scribbled something on it and shoved it back into her pocket.

There was a flash and a cloud of dust, and Harmony shrieked, “Jack!” and tore herself out of the group hug to launch herself at Captain Jack Harkness. He tossed her into the air and caught her again, laughing, then twirled her around and sank down to sit beside Evie and the Doctor, holding the little girl in his lap.

“Doc,” he said, grinning, and kissed the Time Lord on the cheek. Then he sobered. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find a more... cheerful place to meet, but...” he kissed the top of Harmony’s ginger head. “We needed, well, a _safe_ place. You don’t come to Earth much these days.”

The Doctor shook his head. “I’m... I’ll try to come more often. It’s... difficult since...” he trailed off as Evie and her daughter patted his hands with identical expressions of loving concern, and he brightened and said, “Look at you! All grown up with a daughter of your own, little Evie.”

Evie laughed. “Go on with you. I was a woman grown when we met, and it’s been about thirty years in my personal durational time.” She stroked the little girl’s hair fondly as Harmony bounced on Jack’s lap, clearly wanting to join in the conversation but knowing she was meant to let the adults talk. Evie nodded at her and Harmony began to chatter.

“We didn’t get to how I’m named after my aunties, Doctor,” she said breathlessly, “Because that’s when Mumma came. Can you guess?”

“Well... I’m a good guesser. I think that Harmony is for Melody, yeah?” She nodded, beaming at him. “And I would think that Brooke was for River, but you said _aunties_ , like you had more than one.” She let out a tiny shriek of glee, and he gave her mother a wry look. His voice got very quiet then, and he pulled the little girl to his own lap. “Your mother and your auntie Melody and your Jack and... and me. We all had a lovely friend, a priest of the Haemogoth, a woman who considered all the universe to be her home. Her name was Isrea, which in English means Moving-water-over-pebbles. Or Brook. Or _Brooke_. It’s a lovely name.” He kissed the little girl on the forehead. “Now, little Harmony Brooke, can you go play over there with your Mumma? I want to talk to your... to Jack.”

She nodded and scrambled to her feet, grabbing her mother’s hand and tugging her to the grassy lawn outside the graveyard.

“She’s lovely, Jack,” the Doctor said, and Jack nodded. “Is she...?”

“Mine? No idea. Does it matter?”

“Not to me. I thought it might to you. You’ve been living in this era for a long time.” Jack shook his head. “Why did you come, Jack? Why now, I mean?”

“You’re alone. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“It’s only for a _bit_. Clara’s on holiday at Space Florida.”

“Still.” Jack took a deep breath. “We promised River we wouldn’t leave you alone. So here we are. Well... here _I_ am. I’ll... substitute whenever your companions need a break. Or when there’s something like this,” he waved an arm at the graveyard, “That you can’t share with them. I’ll...”

“You’ll last longer,” the Doctor said in a voice that was both dryly amused and horribly sad.

Jack nodded. “We need each other, Doc. Evie and even Harmony... they won’t last forever, and when they go I’ll... I’ll need you. Let me help you when you need me. _Please_.”

“I...” the Doctor started, but was interrupted as Harmony bounced over to Jack and demanded money for an ice cream. He laughed and gave it to her, then allowed himself to be pulled along as Evie sat down next to the Doctor.

“Thank you, Evie,” he said. “As always, you have timing impeccable enough to suggest you’re from Gallifrey.”

She smiled.

 

“Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story wraps up both Friends Through Time and Space, and Contact. Once The Angels Take Manhattan aired these stories were not even canon-ISH; if there had been an Evie Jones in their lives they'd all be more emotionally healthy. 
> 
> Less hiding of one's vulnerable side.


End file.
